


Bathe Me in Your Finest Wine

by twitchtipthegnawer



Series: Overwatch Oneshots [20]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, F/F, Knifeplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poly!Tracer, Smut and Angst, knife fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: Tracer was in a bit of a pickle. The blue glow of the only thing keeping her “alive” was shining dimly just out of reach, and a sadistic light was shining in Widowmaker’s lifeless (gorgeous) eyes.She knew how to get out of it, even knew that Emily would secretly delight at this plan, but nerves balled her hands into fists. Fuck, but she should’ve known better than to walk into an obvious trap.





	Bathe Me in Your Finest Wine

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday fic for tumblr user brokenbabyvulture which had the added bonuses of allowing me to write about Chateau Guillard, a lot of pussy, and KNIFEFUCKING! This was a blast to write and I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> (Do YOU want to treat yourself on your birthday? Head over to [my main tumblr,](http://twitchtipthegnawer.tumblr.com/) [my nsfw/gore tumblr,](http://twitchingcorpse.tumblr.com/) [or my twitter](https://twitter.com/twitchingcorpse?lang=en) to see if I'm available for fic requests at the moment!)

Chateau Guillard was entirely too large, most of the time. Its stone halls echoed with each small sound, Amélie’s footsteps like hammer strikes to the glass of silence. It only made her more acutely aware of how alone she was.

Still, the size could come in handy. No one could hear the screams on the rare occasions that she kept a prisoner. She didn’t exactly have an appetite for torture, but she was far from squeamish about it when she needed information.

Most recently, however, the halls had been filled with neither her even steps nor agonized screams. They were filled, instead, with high-pitched  _ chatter. _

“C’mon luv,” Tracer said brightly, as though her hands and feet weren’t shackled to a saltire cross. “There’s no need to get rough now. You already know it won’t work.”

“But I don’t yet know why,” Widowmaker pointed out. “And I very much doubt you’ll simply tell me.”

Biting her bottom lip, Tracer ducked her head so that she was watching Amélie from under her ridiculous bangs. Her silence was more than enough of an answer.

When Amélie had originally captured Tracer, she’d thought she’d hit a gold-mine. Possibly the most instrumental piece of Overwatch’s newly realized recall, right in her clutches. Talon’s goals were all but accomplished already. Of course, she hadn’t counted on Mercy’s new technology, and she hadn’t spared so much as a thought for Tracer’s, ah,  _ disposition. _

The brit was utterly incomprehensible. No matter how cruelly Amélie treated her, her insufferable grin never disappeared for long. She had a way of saying “I know something you don’t,” without ever having to open her mouth, and it was driving Amélie mad.

And during the actual torture…

If Amélie didn’t know better, she’d say Lena  _ enjoyed _ it.

“Didya know,” Lena said suddenly, a burst of noise like she couldn’t stand to stay quiet. “My girlfriend and I both said if we ever get the chance to snog you we’d totally do it.”

Amélie froze where she stood looking down at the mahogany table veritably covered in knives. “What.”

“Oh don’t get me wrong, we both have your guts,” Lena continued. “But that doesn’t change how awfully attractive you are.”

It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to people telling her she was hot - Amélie just didn’t know how to respond to it coming from Lena, of all people. Lena, who was the closest thing to a nemesis she’d ever had. Lena, who had cried so hard she’d nearly screamed at Gerard’s funeral. Lena, who apparently had a girlfriend.

“How strange that you should bring this up now, when I’m about to cut you open.” WIdowmaker was grateful that her voice didn’t waver the way she’d been half-sure it would.

Tracer shrugged as best she could. “Well sure, the dungeon ain’t exactly the most romantic of locations for a good shagging.” Amélie almost choked at the vulgarity, and as a result nearly missed what Lena said next. “But I wouldn’t say no to a bit of cutting in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.”

Now Amélie  _ did _ choke, though she covered it with a delicate cough. “I’m afraid I  _ don’t _ know, actually.”

“Aw, you’re not kinky? Dressed like you are?” Tracer gave Amélie an up-and-down look that made something warm bubble in her belly.

“I didn’t say that.”

Torturing the Overwatch operative had proven less than useful. Perhaps Amélie should switch tactics - change to something more enticing, if not less violent.

Besides, it had been entirely too long since Widowmaker had been able to blow off some steam. And the chateau seemed much less empty with pleasure buzzing between her ears. And excuses were unbecoming, but oh so tempting. Much like the British idiot in front of her.

“What would you do, if I gave you the chance for an, as you say,  _ snog?” _

Eyes widening, Tracer broke out in a huge grin.

Their negotiations went by rather quickly. With their minds made up, they both seemed high on some kind of adrenaline rush, as though they needed to get everything into the air before sense could sink into their heads. Amélie grabbed Tracer’s chronal accelerator from the corner of the room, and as she stepped up to the cross she felt her heart in her throat.

With something very close to reverence, she unlocked the metal shackles around Tracer’s ankles and wrists. The girl stepped down, rubbing her wrists, and Amélie had a moment that was breathless anticipation. She expected Tracer to blink away, to punch her, to go straight for the weapons lying naked and vulnerable only three feet away.

Instead, a bruising kiss pressed to her lips.

Lena went up on her tiptoes to manage it, wasting no time with parting her chapped lips for Amélie’s tongue. She kissed submissively, which surprised the sniper. Tracer was such a force on the battlefield, she’d never imagined such easy surrender.

Now that she’d tasted it (in the shiver when Amélie bit her lip, in the yielding as Amélie thrust her tongue deep) she wanted more.

She led the way through the grand, empty hallways, dust motes floating through leaded-glass windows to settle on furniture like sheet-covered ghosts. Tracer didn’t seem to notice in the slightest, too busy trying to figure out how to divest Widowmaker of her clothing to take in her surroundings. Amélie would snark that the distractibility would be deadly on the battlefield, but she knew all too well how Lena could focus.

They fell into a spare bedroom together, the rich, indigo sheets musty when they landed on them. The bed was a mahogany four-poster, perfect for bondage, but Widowmaker had a feeling Lena was fed up with being restrained of late. She had other plans, starting with her discarding the chronal accelerator on the stone floor.

“How flexible are you?”

Lithely, Tracer pulled one long leg straight against her front, hooking it behind her head. Amélie smirked, stroked her hair, and whispered, “Perfect.”

Widowmaker positioned Lena on her back, her knees on either side of her own shoulders. Folded in half like that, she was utterly helpless, her hands occupied with gripping the backs of her own thighs to keep them in place.

For only a second Amélie left Tracer alone like that, knowing that the cold air on her pussy would leave her shivering. The chest of drawers in a shadowy corner of the room were full, like she knew they would be. She didn’t keep her “tools” in her own bedroom, of course.

Returning with a rather dull stiletto, Widowmaker traced a dainty fingertip over the crease in Tracer’s stomach. “Of course you’d ‘ave one ‘a those, pretentious prick,” Lena said without an ounce of bite in her voice.

“Do you not like it? I find the shape rather elegant.”

As she spoke she sat before Lena and inspected her cunt. A flush crept down from Lena’s hairline at the scrutiny.

Her clit was small, her bush a neatly-trimmed thatch of dark brown. Nearly the same shade as the stained wood of the room’s furniture. Amélie liked the elegance of that.

Her outer lips were smaller than Amélie’s, her inner lips larger. Setting down the stiletto for the moment, Amélie pressed her thumbs to Lena’s labia, spreading them wide into a heart shape. Lena nearly squeaked, her already high voice getting even shriller.

Amélie was able to watch smugly as a pulse of slick slid from Lena’s hole. Before she could tease more, that squeaking voice was speaking again.

“Are you just gonna watch it all night, or are you gonna get on with it?”

“Rather rude, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be as rude as you want if it’ll get you to punish me.”

The cheeky smile was impossible to kiss off of Tracer’s face, Widowmaker found. Despite the annoyance that made her purse her lips, there was something warm inside her as well. It was why she picked up the knife once more, why she slid the tip from Tracer’s heel to the back of her knee, tracing a thin, white line down her calf.

Already, she knew what she wanted to do. The question was how to build up to it. With a bit more pressure, she could easily raise welts using the tip of the stilletto. Might as well begin with that, with drawing swirls and curlicues on the backs of Tracer’s thighs.

A couple of the marks were spotted with beading blood, where Widowmaker had taken care to break the skin of Lena’s legs. The cuts were all incredibly shallow, not even bleeding until she agitated the skin around them. They were only going to get deeper as the night continued.

Tracer was getting increasingly squirmy as the stinging sensations set in. In an attempt to get her to sit still, Amélie pressed a palm firmly to her belly. The muscles under her fingers jumped, but Lena clearly tried her best to follow the unspoken order.

Words welled up, unbidden, in Amélie’s mouth. “Does your girlfriend do this for you, too?”

“S-sometimes, but usually it’s - I’m the one,” Tracer panted around her words. “With the knife.”

That was a hell of an image, and Amélie found that her patience was running out. She held the knife more firmly, finally using enough force to dig the blade deeply into Tracer’s flesh.

Augmented healing meant Amélie didn’t have to be as careful with Lena as she would be with a civilian. But she knew, intimately, where the arteries and tendons of the body ran, and she found herself avoiding them almost subconsciously. She cut into the softness of fat instead, watched blood drip in first rivulets, then rivers.

Because the knife was dull, she couldn’t turn deeper slices into those intricate patterns she loved. But the straight lines crossing over the welts she’d already risen were a different kind of satisfying, and the fact that Amélie could press her thumbs to the edges and pull them open the way she’d done with Lena’s pussy was positively  _ delightful. _

Finally, she found she wanted to wait no longer. She pressed the tip of the blade to Lena’s entrance, using only the barest pressure. Her grin grew sharklike as Lena went still at the sensation.

“Would you let me impale you, cherí? You did invite punishment, after all.”

“Ah, I,” Lena swallowed hard. “Go slowly, please.”

Widowmaker nodded seriously. She knew better than most that right now, right here, she was at Lena’s mercy.

It was the one moral line left that Amélie wouldn’t cross.

She watched carefully as the knife sunk into Lena’s body. There was no blood, not yet. Lena sucked in a deep breath and held it, her breasts quivering with the tension in her body. Amelie leaned forward to lick at her cuts in reward.

Inch by inch she fucked Lena with the knife. Her movements were slow, sensuous, never fully thrusting the knife to the hilt. Instead she rocked it back and forth, spearing Lena deeper with each movement. Her thumb found Lena’s clit, teasing it as she went from kissing her cuts to her chest. Her breasts were soft, her nipples a cute, pebbled pink. When Amélie sucked one into her mouth, staining it pink with the lingering blood, she felt the knife in her grip slip. Lena’s muscles had done their damndest to suck in the blade.

That told Amélie two things: that her control was hanging by a thread, and that Lena was ready for everything she could give.

When the guard was pressed to Lena’s pelvis, Amélie knew it had pierced her inside. The damage was minor, but in such a sensitive place she knew Lena would feel it acutely. Slowly, she twisted the blade, watched as Lena’s feet kicked at the sensation.

Sweet sounds were spilling from Lena’s throat, unashamed and loud. The wood-panelled walls of the room didn’t allow them to echo, and for once Amélie was sad about that. Lena’s squeals weren’t her usual preference, the voice cracks unrefined as Lena’s normal speech. But they were endearing, and they made warmth pool between Amélie’s legs.

Orgasm wasn’t far off, Amélie knew, so she hastened her thrusts. She was careful to keep the angle the same, not wanting to worsen the damage inside.

Within a minute Lena was throwing her head back as best she could in her position, a trickle of sanguine dripping down the stiletto and across Amélie’s knuckles as she came. Amélie fucked her through it, but stopped before it could edge into overstimulation. Much as she loved that, she had a feeling it would be too much on top of all the pain Lena had already been treated to.

Carefully, so carefully, Amélie withdrew the knife. Lena shuddered as she was left empty.

“How was that,” she asked, smug and not bothering to hide it. “Better than a snog, no?”

Laughing incredulously, Lena slowly lowered her legs until they were sprawled on either side of Amélie’s hips. “You know it was, you git.”

They sat through a beat of silence together, broken only by Lena’s labored breathing. Then -

“Do you want me to -”

“No,” the word came out harsher than she’d meant it, and Amélie bit her tongue. “I am fine.”

Though Tracer gave her a skeptical look, she only said, “Cheers for that, then.”

This time the quiet lasted longer, and felt like needles in Amélie’s scalp. Tracer cleared her throat, drew her already-healing legs closer to her body, and sat up. “Don’t suppose you’re gonna tie me up again, then?”

“No,” she said again.

“That’s fair, I - what?”

Flopping backwards, Amélie said, “I am going to sleep. Do what you want.”

As soon as she closed her eyes in resignation, she heard the sound of Tracer shifting to get off the bed. Widowmaker’s hair was bunched uncomfortably under her head, but she didn’t move, couldn’t seem to find the energy. She was still turned on, but the thought of doing anything about it was less than appealing.

What, exactly, had she meant to accomplish with this? Not that she had any great love for Talon, but she’d never been one for impulsive decisions. At least nothing on this scale.

Sleep seemed impossibly far and entirely too close at the same time. Amélie always fell asleep after sex, though usually it was because the orgasm left her wrung out and tired. This time it was more like her brain had been cut loose from a tether, and in the absence of the object of her focus it was running itself ragged in circles.

A piece of her wondered what Tracer would do, after this. The door shut behind her with a quiet creak, and Widowmaker listened to her footsteps fade down the hall. Somehow she doubted that Tracer would be sharing the details of what had happened with her superiors any more than Widowmaker would be.

But her girlfriend. Amélie wondered what the woman was like, if she was part of Overwatch too or not. She wondered if there would be jealousy, when Tracer told her what had happened, or if she would be approving. She had a mental image of the mysterious girlfriend using it as fuel to rile up Tracer in the future.

In all likelihood, she’d made a major mistake in not indulging in aftercare for either of them. Tracer, with her indomitable cheeriness, seemed impossible to send into sub-drop. On the other hand, Amélie knew all too well what the consequences could be for herself.

Consequences were for the morning, however. For today, she was going to rest as best she could. She’d have quite a story to make up in the morning, something full of daring escapes and thrilling duels. It wouldn’t be nearly as exciting as the truth.


End file.
